THE NEW YORKER 7 THE HOUI\, GLASS It Does Happen S IX months ago he was just Jim Gleason, another good guy trying to get by; an ac or of parts too scattered for comfort; an incident of the Rialto. Now he is Mr. James Gleason, playwright, co- author of two successful comedies, currently prosper- ous-"Is Zat So?" and "The Fall Guy" with an income bringing great joy, but which will prove bur- densome along about February, 19 26 . Quite a leap in six months; quite a leap. And the jump preceding, from a sergeantcy in the Old Army to an actor of however few parts, was no inconsiderable stride, either. The man has portrayed himself faith- fully in the rôle he plays, that of the shrewd, slangy, semi-roughneck fight man- ( ager in "Is Zat So?". He is what he him- o . '. self would call "a square shooter." He ,'-:;- .:v..... does the best he can for everyone, including himself. At present he is not impressed by his ne\v \ . ;: eminence, being too busy enjoying the sud- . / ,, . t den good fortune come to him after thirty- Ruth von Phul odd years of lean living. One hopes he will never get to the point of taking his work too seriously; and probably he won't. Whatever else it did, the Old Army bred sergeants with level heads. Vice-AI T HERE IS a measure of Seymour Lowman in what he does between Legislative sessions. In Elmira where he resides, the Lieutenant-Governor of this State occupies himself with the related industries of legal practice and building contracting. He has been a provincial political leader for many years: chairman of a Republican County Committee; thrice member of the Legislature, and dry- est of the drys, which adhesion to the Anti- Saloon League was responsible for his nom- ination last Fall, a sponge being needed to mop up the wetness of T. R. 2'S record. He is grey, the Hon. Seymour Lowman, as befits a man of 56 years, and he peers benevolently at one from behind gold- rimmed spectacles, which help to make hinl the ideal type for the rôle of Yankee grand- father . Yet at 56 he is just becoming kno,vn to the people of the greatest city of his State; and not so favorably known, for he has been fighting a thankless and losing battle for his party throughout the Legisla- tive session just ended. One cannot al- ways have his regularity and his popularity, as !VIr. Lowman discovered when he op- posed a reduction of the income tax, taking his stand in the interests of up-State coun- ties. For the work, he drew on himself an editorial rebuke from the Herald Trib- une, the first administered to a Republican statesman by that journal in many days. / ':'0.. . .- .,;.) ... ; . -- j .-, '<7 I rr. \ t!J ,: . "" Seymour Lowman ( : , I \ : , , ( 1 Ä .IW ;. , Ii). L ... / -..:..-- An Artist of Color --' H IS mother, they say, was a slave. With no disrespect, one hopes this is not the glowing invention of some press agent. For there could be no finer justice than the fact of a son of slavery having risen to the front rank of artistry among the peoples. Roland Hayes, whether the slave story be true or no, is the son of America's South, whose gifts to art to-day are chiefly those made by its negro children. He was poor, of course. In 1905 he was a molder in a stove factory in Chattanooga and a choir singer there. Through infinite sacrifice he acquired a musi- cal education. At one time during his student days he was a waiter at the distinguished Pendennis Club in Louisville. His serving there has added to its lustre. It was inevitable, for one of his race, that real recognition would have to come abroad before he would be accepted at home. Europe gave him this. He enjoyed three years of triumph on the Continent, rising to the glory of a "command" performance in Buckingham Palace. After that, this democratic land could do no less than hail him as one of talent. He has even been accepted by the South and in West Vir- ginia, a year or so ago, he sang before the first "mixed" audience assembled there since the Civil War. A great accomplishment, truly, before which his present Carnegie Hall successes seem trivial and 1 ustrel ess. James Gleason The Puzzling von Phul I MAGINE the blow to the Hellenic Ship- builders' Board of Trade if Helen hadn't had that sort of face. One thousand ship contracts unlet. Then you may consider what manner of hurt the cross word indus- try would have suffered had its official champion been a lady who didn't photo- graph well. The disease might have strug- gled along, but it never could have become epidemic. Fortunately, or unfortunately (we wouldn't dare take Simon & Shuster's opinion about this), Ruth von Phul, who sets bogey each day for one newspaper's puzzle and who supplies another with its daily allot- ment of horizontals and verticals, is a person of dis- tinct charm, both of appearance and of manner. She is the sort of vivacious young lady one would not look to see going through life with Noah Webster in one hand and the wrong Roget in the other. She is in her early twenties. She is married, the wife of a civil engineer, and somehow she knows how to spell despite a college education. She contracted the cross- word puzzle illness while loyally attending boresome baseball games with Mr. von Phul. Our National Pastime has much to answer for; and Ruth von Phul's cross-word addiction is not the least count in the indictment. .,.... , -.', ,I .... ......, ." ' ,; ì '. . '. \ . "".."'. . ..- , . .. ., \ f'" Roland Hayes V]